The Tax Office
The time had finally come for me to put the car my dad gave me into my name. Sounds simple enough, right? Nopers (as Michael Scott would say). He had given it to me a few years ago but during that time I was living in "college mode" where nothing really mattered in the real world. After waiting in an incredibly long line that snaked around the room I made it to the counter. I stood across from a 20-something girl and explained that I needed to transfer my vehicle title, get my new registration, and get new license plates. She nodded her head, and then spent two minutes in silence clicking around her computer. There wasn’t much for me to do in those awkward moments except to size up the gravity of the moment. She noticed that I didn't have my dad's signature on an obscure back line of the title. A.K.A. I have to drive across Houston, get the signature, come back, and wait in the snaking line again. Ah, the frustration. But, alas the government is "the man" and "the man" sometimes has to win. I took care of everything that needed to be done and went back to that dreaded place. All of this travel time gave me time to think...I honestly feel sorry for the young people who work in the tax office. If you are in your 30s or 40s and you work in those offices, somehow it doesn’t seem that bad. But if you’re in your prime and young enough to still want to be a rocker, then working at the tax office seams to be a general admission of defeat. I know this because I grew up watching The Simpsons where Marge Simpson’s repulsive twin sisters, Patty and Selma, work at the DMV (pretty much the same place as the tax office). They were chainsmokers by day and lusted over McGyver by night. They are the epitome of uncool.
As I was leaving the parking lot, I headed over to HEB to return a plastic basket Charlie accidentally brought home a long time ago. It has been sitting in my back seat for nearly a month and we've been using it off and on as a laundry basket; consider for a moment how uncool that really is. But married life has made my life hectic and things like this just don’t seem important....
As I was leaving the parking lot, I headed over to HEB to return a plastic basket Charlie accidentally brought home a long time ago. It has been sitting in my back seat for nearly a month and we've been using it off and on as a laundry basket; consider for a moment how uncool that really is. But married life has made my life hectic and things like this just don’t seem important....
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